In the Wilds of South America

by Leo E. Miller

We reached the port on a Sunday afternoon. The people from a distance of many miles around flocked to the spot on this day for the purpose of having a “good time,” so that there were upward of a hundred natives in and about the one corrugated iron and bamboo building comprising the puerto, dancing, drinking, fighting, and trading at the little shop. The owner of the house received us courteously (and where in all Colombia was courtesy wanting?) and we soon made ourselves comfortable in the large wareroom which formed one end of the structure. There was no thought of work that day, for everybody crowded about to have a good look at and welcome the gringos, but we made the best of the occasion and secured a good deal of information concerning the surrounding country.

The Cauca, a swift, muddy stream four or five hundred feet wide at this point, is hemmed in on both sides by the steep slopes of the Western and Central Andean Ranges, the forest extending down to the water. It is navigable from here on down to a small settlement called Cáceres, but rafts and canoes only are employed in making this journey, which requires half a day going down and two days coming up. The natives are a careless lot while on the water, and numbers of lives are lost annually. About the first thing we saw was the body of a man floating down the river, with a vulture perched on it. We asked Don José, owner of the place, why he did not send some of his peons in a canoe to recover it. He replied that if he did he would be required to care for the body until a government official from Yarumal came to view it, and then he and every one present would have to go back with the coroner to give their testimony as to the finding of the cadaver. This entailed so much trouble that it was customary not to pay any attention to such occurrences.

In few places have I seen such an abundance of interesting fauna as at Puerto Valdivia. The forest was teeming with birds; mammals were plentiful; shoals of fish and even caimans swarmed in the river; there were also insects enough to cheer the heart of an entomologist.

A naturalists’ camp in the forest.

A native hunter with a red howling monkey.

In such a region the naturalist has no idle moments. When we tired of working with birds and mammals, which were of chief interest to us, we had only to step to the river-bank, where vast swarms of brilliantly colored butterflies settled in thick masses in the mud or rocks to drink. A single sweep of the net often ensnared several score of the insects. A species of Urania of a black and green color predominated, but a Diana, deep red above and spotted with silver dots on the under-side was not uncommon.

Fish could always be secured in abundance. If we attempted to catch them with hooks we usually landed catfish or small eels. It is unlawful to use dynamite in Colombia, but Don José had a goodly supply stored away and did not hesitate to use it when occasion required. The peons detailed for that purpose selected a spot in the river where logs and brush had grounded to form a drift, or where the water eddied against a sharp bend; they tied a rock to the explosive, lit the fuse and threw it into the water. After a few moments, during which the water hissed and bubbled as the gases from the burning fuse rose and escaped, a dull thud followed and, almost immediately, the surface was littered with numbers of dead and stunned fish. They were invariably a species of “Pacu” (Prochilodus nigricans), weighing from one to four or five pounds, and proved to be excellent eating.

Not far from the port is an old cacao-plantation which has apparently been deserted for a number of years. The trees are tall and covered with moss, while the sheltering cochimbas or madre de cacaos form a high canopy of interlocking branches. To this cool retreat almost every species of bird common in the region came to feed or to pass the noonday hours. There were buccos and wood-hewers in abundance—the former dull, stupid birds, which sat quietly on the lower twigs in the hope that some insect would wing its way not too far from their ever-hungry mouths; the latter, agile and alert as they scampered up the moss-covered trunks, eagerly examining each crevice for a hidden grub or an ant. Gorgeous trogons with resplendent green backs and blood-red breasts flitted among the lower branches, and little parrots of bright green with gold-colored heads screamed and fluttered in the leafy branches high overhead. Where ferns and brush grew thickest, near the numerous ravines, flocks of yellow manakins (Manacus) sputtered and whirred in the semidarkness; they proved to be an undescribed form.